CHAPTER 145: THE DEVIL AND THE RAIN

Lydia lay in her bed, still deep in sleep.

Her room was dim. The lamps that had burned through the night had gone out long ago, leaving only the faint shadow of furniture and the soft shape of her body under the sheets.

It was very early. Dawn was still far from fully waking the sky. Outside, the world was still dark, almost black.

Then, it began to rain.

At first it was only a whisper, like soft fingers brushing against the roof and windows. Then it grew steadier, the gentle patter becoming a quiet rhythm.

The moment the sound began, Lydia’s body shifted. She turned from one side to the other, her hair falling loose across the pillow. Her forehead became damp with sweat. A small sound left her lips — a soft whimper, the kind someone might make when they are frightened or hurting in a dream.

Her hands gripped the sheet tightly. Her body twisted as if she was fighting against something only she could see. Her breath came fast.

It went on for several minutes, the rain falling and her restless movements matching its beat. Then suddenly, her eyes opened.

She was awake.

Her nightdress clung to her skin, damp from sweat. Her chest rose and fell quickly, and her face glistened faintly in the dim light.

Her eyes looked almost glassy, as if she had been about to cry in her sleep. She pushed herself up slowly until she was sitting against the headboard.

She looked around, confused at first, then slowly remembering where she was — her own room, her own bed.

Then she heard it.

The rain.

It fell in soft sheets outside her window, the sound weaving its way into the room. It was calm, almost gentle, but to her it was sharp and cold.

Her lips trembled. Her fingers began to shake.

It felt, for a moment, as if the rain had not come to cool the air or water the earth, but to find her. To remind her of something she did not want to remember.

Her throat felt tight.

She swung her legs over the bed and stood. The floor felt cold beneath her bare feet as she walked to the window. She reached for the frame and pushed it closed. The sound of the rain dulled, but it didn’t disappear. She could still hear it, faint but steady, as if it would not let her go.

She went back to her bed and sat down. She tried to lay her head on the pillow again, hoping sleep might come back to her. But it didn’t. Her eyes stayed open, fixed on the ceiling. Every drop of rain that touched the roof seemed to fall inside her chest instead.

Finally, she rose again. This time she moved slowly, her steps almost silent. She opened the door to her chambers and stepped into the hallway.

The palace was still. No voices, no footsteps, only the distant sound of rain touching the stone walls and windows.

She walked without thinking, her body pulling her forward until she reached one of the balconies.

She stepped outside. The air was cool, almost cold. She wrapped her arms around herself and stood at the railing.

The rain fell in silver threads against the dark sky. The gardens below glistened with tiny droplets. The smell of wet earth and stone rose up to meet her.

She stared out into the distance, her eyes empty at first. Then something shifted in them. A small flicker of sadness passed through, soft but deep.

A single tear escaped her eye. It ran slowly down her cheek, warm against the cool air. She didn’t wipe it away.

She kept watching the rain. She stood there so long that the blackness of night began to fade into the pale blue light of early morning — the blue hour, when the world feels both awake and asleep at the same time.

That was when she heard it.

Footsteps.

Soft, measured, approaching from behind.

It was Irina.

"Lydia," she said gently, her voice carrying the warmth of concern.

Lydia turned slightly but didn’t speak.

Irina stepped closer and reached out, touching her arm softly. "Are you okay?"

Lydia gave a small nod. "I am."

Irina looked at her closely. "You couldn’t sleep, could you?"

Lydia hesitated, then nodded again. "Yes."

Irina moved to stand beside her. She reached for Lydia’s hands, holding them in her own. Her thumbs brushed lightly over the Lydia’s skin in a tender stroke.

"Lydia," she said softly, "I want you to know something. I will always be here for you. No matter what happens." She paused for a moment, her eyes searching Lydia’s face. "Must you do this? I am worried that you might get hurt."

Lydia’s expression changed. She pulled her hands back, her voice turning cooler. "Why do all of you act like I am some fragile thing that will break?"

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "I am fine. And you do not have to worry. I will not get hurt."

Her gaze turned distant. "There is nothing that can happen to me that I have not been through already. Stop worrying about me."

Without waiting for a reply, she turned and began walking back toward her chambers.

Irina stood where she was, watching her leave. She noticed the faint tremble in Lydia’s hands as they fell to her sides, but she said nothing.

When the younger woman was gone, Irina’s eyes softened with sadness. She let out a slow breath, the kind that carries more than words ever could.

Elsewhere in the palace, Ivan lay in his own bed.

He was not asleep either. It didn’t look like he had even tried to sleep.

He lay on his side, his arm bent under his head, his face turned toward the window. Outside, the rain fell steadily.

He stared at it, his eyes following the way the droplets slid down the glass, merging into little rivers before disappearing from sight.

A tear rolled slowly down his cheek, then another. He didn’t wipe them away.

It was the first rainfall of the year.

But to him, it didn’t feel like a blessing from the sky. It felt like the sky itself was crying.

And in some unspoken way, it felt like it was crying with him.